


You Were My Cherry Popsicle

by evil_whimsey



Series: Blackbird [7]
Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blackbirdverse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 13:01:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1689224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evil_whimsey/pseuds/evil_whimsey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"<i>Of course Arai knew better than to expect Takashi to give up blame for the incident right away.  Responsibility was something bred into the bones of the Morinozukas, going back generations, and you had to take the good with the bad, with that sort of thing.</i>"</p>
<p>Taking place some time after <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1077076/chapters/2163608">Learn To Fly</a>.  Mori and Arai are still learning what it means to be important to someone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_We should go swimming,_ Arai had been about to say;  it was all he'd been thinking about all morning.  Because it was hot, all week it had been outrageously hot, everywhere he went.  Hot and still, and sticky.  The bright green hills wavered in the haze; the roads were baked and dusty.  Birds sat wilting and silent in the trees, and dogs sprawled panting under the porches in town.  Anyone with any sense at all was holed up indoors with fans and lemonade, and you could even hear air conditioners running in some of the houses.  Nobody used air conditioners in Karuizawa.  Normally, it was absurd. 

Worst heat wave in twenty years, his uncle had grumbled, when they had to haul all the produce from the storeroom into the grocery's single refrigeration compartment, to keep it from rotting.  When Arai had awakened from a twitchy sleep that morning with the sheets sticking to him again, the box fan in his window bringing no relief at all, his first thought was to spend the day holed up with the produce.  But the space was much too cramped, really, so then his second thought was, _Hey.  Takashi has a swimming pool..._

Which was how he ended up at the Morinozuka estate, ready to tempt Takashi down to his own cool, blue-sparkling pool for the afternoon, by any means necessary.  Trouble was, he'd made the mistake of looking in first, to see if Takashi was actually busy.  And then all he could do was stare.

The room was dim and quiet, drapes pulled against the outside glare, ceiling fan turning noiselessly overhead.  Takashi was stretched out on the sofa directly beneath it, in shorts and a thin t-shirt, one long leg reached to the sofa's opposite arm, the other bent to prop up the magazine he was browsing.  He had a white bowl balanced on his stomach, and a silver utensil in his mouth, and when he blinked over the top of his magazine, black eyebrows two perfect crescents and red, red lips pursed innocently around the silver....

Arai dropped the pool idea without a second's hesitation.  It was just gone, along with any other sensible thought he might've had.  For just a second, he was half-tempted to back up and make sure he'd come into the right room, the right house, even.  This person lolling on the sofa looked altogether too lazy to be Takashi, who was always so straight and self-contained, regardless of the weather, or any other factors.  Arai looked at the (bare) knee propped against the sofa back, the magazine carelessly pinned by the limp weight of a (naked) forearm, and forced his attention back to those arresting dark eyes (okay, definitely Takashi's, no mistake there), sparking with curiosity now.  He watched the faint lift of one eyebrow, and then the bright silver spoon, sliding out from stained crimson lips, and the next thing Arai knew, he was walking.

He might have said hi.  It was possible he even slid the library door shut behind him.  And maybe he actually was still breathing, as he moved toward the sofa.  But it was too many details to keep track of at that moment, so Arai honestly had no idea.  All he was certain of was the heat in his ears, and the eager fluttering of his pulse, reaching out through his limbs and propelling him forward.

Surely it was written all over him, bold as the morning headlines, and the part of Arai that normally hesitated and thought twice, wanted to put a word in about manners and making small talk for form's sake.  But he couldn't focus on that because Takashi had obviously read his mind already;  he was smiling and setting aside his magazine and his bowl, and that wicked little silver spoon, bowl of something red and icy--oh good--and lifting up on one elbow, just as Arai was sinking down.  

Takashi didn't say a word, but his eyes were laughing and _wondering_ , and god he was just gorgeous.  Even lazy as hell on a roasting hot day, it looked good on him, somehow.

"I was gonna see if you wanted to head down for a swim," Arai explained, settling on his knees and cupping Takashi's cheek because he couldn't stand not touching him anymore.

"To hot to go out."  White teeth and red tongue, and eyes fastened on Arai's mouth because of course he knew, he'd known from the moment Arai set foot in the room, probably.

"Yeah, well I thought of something better, anyway."  

Arai leaned in close, closer, and Takashi grinned into the kiss, then huffed a quick startled laugh when Arai licked his bottom lip.  Cool tang of fruit, not sweet like he'd expected, but yes, good.  Smooth, summer-warm skin under his hands, soft hair feathering between his fingers, and Takashi's mouth was--the contrast was _delicious_ \--chilled and tart, like apples buried in a snowbank.

But no, not apples.  Strawberries maybe, wild and barely ripened?  The flavor was distinctive, but so faint, and with Takashi pressing up now, kissing him back with that absolute, breathtaking focus he had, it hardly seemed to matter.  A warm hand moved slowly between Arai's shoulder blades, and the part of him who couldn't be fussed with hesitation and small talk because it liked kissing Takashi so very very much, was already planning ahead, wondering if one of them would climb up on the sofa, or if the other would slip off the side to the floor, since there was all kinds of room down here--.

Naturally at that thought, Arai had to stop a second and let his head clear.

"Hello," Takashi smiled, like a breath between laughter.  It was one of many reasons why Arai could kiss him forever, because he had never seen anyone so happy as Takashi in moments like this, and it was utterly contagious.

"Hi," Arai breathed, curling his fingers in the short hairs at the nape of Takashi's neck.  He pressed his lips together, chasing the taste of that kiss and, oh yeah.  "What were you having just now?  What was that?"

"Dessert ice."  Little hint of smugness, like he'd stolen from the cookie jar without getting caught.

"Your mouth is all red."  Arai touched a finger to Takashi's smile, grinning himself.  "What's in your dessert ice?"  
"You couldn't tell?" Takashi chuckled.

"Was it plum?"  
"No...."

"Not strawberry?"  
"Hm-mm."

"Raspberry?  Mulberry?  Black currant?"

Takashi tossed him an impish wink of a look, and reached around for his bowl on the end table.  Arai's mouth was buzzing and warm, like with the afterbite of ginger--maybe ginger was in it too?

"Here.  Taste."  The silver spoon, with a scoop of bright red ice, hovered in front of him.  Arai went to take it, but with that same funny, almost prankish expression, Takashi moved it away.

"What?"  
Takashi flicked a finger toward his mouth.  "Open."

Something in Arai's chest did a giddy roller-coaster loop, leaving his breath stuck sideways.  His face was hotter than the pavement outside, his mouth sizzling, and _Takashi wanted to feed him ice oh god_.  The spoon swayed above him and Arai's nerves jangled; kissing Takashi was one thing, but this was a step into altogether different territory.  Not that he minded the look of that territory so far, but....well, it wasn't really much of a stretch in his mind, from this to both of them on the floor, and Arai really didn't think he could be responsible for what might--

"It's going to melt, if you just keep thinking about it," Takashi teased softly.

Right.  Good point.  Arai opened his mouth, like a baby bird, which would've made him feel silly except that as the spoon came closer, he noticed Takashi's hand wasn't altogether steady.  He might be the boss of the spoon and the ice, but he wasn't necessarily the boss of himself just then, and that, in Arai's opinion, made the whole thing even better.

Cold silver in his mouth, the spoon clicked against his teeth, then ice melting on his tongue.  He closed his eyes to taste--what?  Drawing off the spoon, rolling the flavor around;  red fruit, dark with a hint of bitter, clarified to an earthy essence, and what....

Oh.

"Did you guess?"  The words brushed his lips, and he cracked an eye open to the blur of Takashi's cheek, just as Takashi pressed an open kiss to his mouth, but--

"Oh--"  Takashi licked into his mouth, tasting him, fingers firm on Arai's jaw.  A determined, thirsty kiss and Arai's spine melted all the way down, like the last of the ice, dripping down his chin, but--

"Cherry?"  Arai mumbled the thought knocking at his dazed brain, persistent even over the buzz of _kissing, more, now_ trying to drown out everything else.

"My favorite," said Takashi, voice like a slow slide down into a lazy afternoon nap, maybe with a two-hour backrub thrown in, and Arai wanted nothing, nothing more than to drag him off that sofa, right there.  But.

"Cherry," he repeated, to be sure.  Because for some stupid reason, that seemed more important than getting Takashi close enough to feel his voice rumble all through him when he spoke.  Getting an arm over his shoulder and an arm around his waist, and kissing him until neither of them could see straight.

"You like it?"  He pulled back with a look inviting Arai to say yes, and find out where they might go from here.  And oh, it was tempting.  Arai was right on the edge of ignoring this stupid thing nagging at him, but when he opened his mouth--prickling, tingling--what came out was....

"I'm allergic to it."  So unexpected, it took them both a moment to process.  They just looked at each other, Arai thinking, _what was that?  What did I just say?_ , and Takashi blinking wide eyes; Arai could all but hear his thoughts clicking together.

"But you just--."  His brows snapped together in a straight line, and he peered closely at Arai's mouth, which was smarting pretty badly by then.  He rubbed his thumb at the corner of Arai's mouth, and Arai said, "Ow."

And then all hell broke loose.

**

Arai wasn't sure his feet even touched the floor between the library and the kitchen, Takashi was moving so fast.  He blinked and they were in the hall, blinked again and they were in the kitchen, Sakura-san starting up from the kitchen table at their sudden entrance.

"Bocchama!"

"Hospital.  Ambulance," said Takashi, planting Arai next to the sink, flipping on the tap, and grabbing a dishtowel.  
She hurried over, glancing between them.  "What happened?"

"Allergic reaction," Takashi answered, which was good because Arai's mouth was surely full of fire ants, eating him alive from the inside and Takashi was dabbing at Arai's mouth with the wet towel, which stung so bad his eyes watered.

"mmf!"  He flapped his arms, in hopes of communicating that an ambulance wasn't necessary, and he should've mentioned (before breaking out in hives) that it wasn't really _that_ bad of an allergy, but Takashi was strong, and had no trouble holding him still with one hand.  Luckily, Sakura-san seemed to be taking the situation in stride.

"An ambulance will take close to half an hour to get here," she pointed out, looking Arai over critically.  "Do you feel dizzy right now?" she asked him.  "Are you having any trouble breathing?"

Arai shook his head, ducking Takashi's frantic but well-meaning attempts to scrub his face off.  "Not s'vere," he got out.  "I jus' break out."

"Hm."  She weighed this information gravely, and then said, "Bocchama?  I respectfully suggest we drive Arai-kun to Doctor Ochida.  He is much closer than the town hospital, and I can call ahead if Bocchama brings the car around."

"But--."  Takashi glanced between them, vibrating with anxiety.

"He isn't going into shock," she pointed out reasonably, before handing Arai a glass of water.  "--Here child, rinse out.  And Doctor Ochida is perfectly equipped to treat him, regardless.  Even the Ootori family trust him."

That apparently got Takashi's attention.  "I'll be right back," he told Arai.  "Stay here."  And then he was off, and Sakura-san was slipping the kitchen towel into his hand, wrapped around an ice pack.

"That should help," she said.  "Can I get you anything else?"

 _Stay here?_ Arai thought.  _Where else would I go?_

He suspected most of his brain was still lagging behind in the library, and not catching up near fast enough.  It was just as well he could hardly talk, for he couldn't think of a single sensible thing to say.  He shook his head, and gave Sakura-san a little bow of appreciation for the ice pack.  And not knowing what else to do, set it gingerly against the bottom half of his face.

**


	2. Chapter 2

"The exposure was very slight," explained Doctor Ochida, "and I don't expect you'll see any further symptoms.  To be sure, we'll continue to monitor your vital signs for a couple of hours, but I'm confident the reaction will abate quite soon."

Arai had never seen any clinic like Doctor Ochida's.  It was like a high-class mountain resort--clean, airy, and elegant--which just happened to be furnished with all manner of sophisticated medical equipment.  He had a blood pressure cuff strapped to his arm, a pulse monitor slipped onto his finger, and an intern checked his temperature with a funny little ear monitor.  His mouth hurt, and his throat hurt, and he didn't want to think what the hives must look like.  But the Doctor and his staff were all extremely accommodating, and once it was clear he wasn't keeling over from anaphylaxis anytime soon, they brought him a cup of iced water, put some cream on his face and hands which made a world of difference, and dosed him with some antihistamine pills.

Takashi, who'd been keeping an intent, vigilant eye on the examination, stood and bowed.  "Thank you Doctor," he said solemnly, and Arai nodded his vigorous agreement.

"S'rry for th' trouble," he attempted, and the Doctor smiled.

"It's good you have such a conscientious friend," he said.  "I'm sure you'll be fine in no time.  Why not relax awhile, and we'll check on you again later."

Another of the interns, or maybe it was a nurse, did something to the examining table that made it fold up, like a pool chair, so Arai could lean back.  It was surprisingly comfortable.  With nothing else to do, he checked out the blood pressure cuff, and the little plastic thimble of the pulse monitor on his index finger, and glanced periodically over at Takashi, who was studying the floor with uncommon concentration.  He had a premonition, just from the look Takashi was giving the linoleum, that there would be a discussion taking place in their near future.  One of those uncomfortable ones, involving apologies and the settling of responsibility between them; possibly the only topic he and Takashi had trouble agreeing on, when it came up.  He wanted to sigh, but instead took a sip of iced water, and read the directions on the tube of cream the Doctor had left him with.

Kissing, he thought, should not be so complicated.

**

Two hours later, they were sent on their way with due ceremony.  Arai was a bit groggy from the antihistamines, but his welts had almost entirely disappeared and at worst, he was only a little sore about the mouth and throat.  Takashi however, had not improved much at all.  He'd barely said a word the whole two hours of Arai's observation, and though he looked over often enough, his eyes never quite made it up to meet Arai's.  No matter how hard Arai stared at him, willing the conversation to just start, so they could get it over with.

It wasn't until they were back out at the car, with the sun sinking behind the mountains and long shadows stretching out from the trees, that Takashi decided it was time to speak his mind.  He'd gone to open the passenger door for Arai, but then stopped short.  Knelt down on the pavement instead, sitting on his heels with a resolute expression, like a schoolboy awaiting discipline. 

"Um," said Arai.

"It is unforgivable, that you were hurt because of my carelessness," Takashi told him.  Arai stared down at the top of his head, trying to decide whether it was good or bad that he was so completely not surprised at all, even a little bit.  

"I'm pretty sure I started it this time," he offered.  "I mean, if anybody's to blame here...."  But the angle of Takashi's eye and the set of his jaw didn't waver.  Not that Arai really expected it to.

"The smart thing, would've been to ask what you were eating, first.  Right?  I knew I was allergic, but you didn't.  I'm really sorry I worried you, but you weren't the careless one.  That would be me, over here."  Still, it was like talking to a bronze statue, and Arai knew for a fact Takashi could sit that way all night, if the mood struck him. 

"It's a little hard to talk to you like this, y'know," he sighed gently.  

Takashi didn't say anything.  Just stayed stubbornly put, as if stillness and remorseful silence alone would win him the blame he'd already apportioned himself.  It was a surprisingly effective way to win a disagreement, Arai had learned.  But the fact was, this wasn't Takashi's fault, period, no matter how you looked at it.

He crossed his arms, and studied his friend, thinking how to work around this.  Finally, he crouched down in front of him, ducking purposefully into Takashi's line of sight.

"All right, listen.  I would kiss you again right now, if I didn't have this stuff all over my face.  And even if I'd known you were eating cherry, I might've kissed you anyway, who knows.  I'm a little crazy about you, that way."  
Takashi's eyes flicked to the side, but since Arai wasn't hearing any contradictions, he decided to press his point further.

"You aren't supposed to be responsible for everything that happens to me.  We talked about that before, remember?  I know you feel like you should, because you care a lot.   And I like knowing you care, I really do.  But Takashi,"  reaching out, laying a hand on his shoulder, "I don't like seeing you make yourself miserable when things go wrong."

"I--," Takashi began, still looking obliquely off at the ground.  "I was."  His posture tilted uncertainly, and Arai feared he'd mistakenly hit a sore spot, or that Takashi had taken him wrong somehow.

"What?" he asked, leaning in.  "It's okay, tell me."

"I was afraid," Takashi said to the pavement, in a quiet, deliberate tone that didn't fool Arai for a second.  He could hear the effort behind it, all Takashi's considerable discipline rallied to one point, just to deliver a single sentence, and maybe Takashi could keep this up indefinitely too, but Arai didn't think he could stand to watch that.

"Hey."  He dropped forward to his knees, getting his arms around Takashi's shoulders.  "Don't do this, please?  I'm fine, everything's fine."  Takashi sat stiff for a moment, but then yielded, letting Arai pull him in close.  "It was just a stupid breakout, and it's going away now.  You don't have anything to worry about, I promise."

"I didn't know what would happen," Takashi mumbled into his shoulder.  "I thought you might...."  

"Shh."  Arai held him tighter.  "It's not that bad.  I guess it looked bad, and it would've looked a damn sight worse if you hadn't got me here so fast....thanks for that, by the way."

"I didn't know," Takashi repeated, propped against Arai with his hands limp in his lap, as though his own weight was too much to bear up at the moment.  And maybe it was, considering all that he put on himself.

"I'm sorry. I wish I'd thought about it.  I really do."  Arai didn't know what else to say.  Promise it wouldn't happen again?  That he'd make it up to Takashi, somehow?  How was he supposed to do that?  Life was full of random accidents, it's just how things were, and for whatever reason, he was prone to stumbling into them.  He was pretty well resigned to his luck being unpredictable, but Takashi--even after all the time they'd spent together--had trouble reconciling himself to that.

Arai rubbed the hunched back under his arm, and held on.  Trying not to feel how his knees were complaining, being bent to the rough pavement like this; trying not to think about how he was in the parking lot of a private doctor's clinic, with his boyfriend apparently having a minor breakdown.

"Listen," he said softly.  "It isn't your job to make sure nothing bad ever happens.  Nobody can do that.  And if you keep on like this, I'm gonna make you gray-haired before you're thirty.  'Cause we both know I can't stay out of trouble."

For a long moment only the crickets had anything to say, while Takashi just leaned his forehead on Arai's shoulder.  He took a short breath, and then another longer one.  Eventually, he raised up and regarded Arai directly.  Weary, anxious, but finally meeting his eyes.  

"I don't mind the trouble."

"Lucky me, then," Arai smiled.  He reached down for Takashi's hand.  "C'mon.  Let's get back to your place, so everybody knows we're okay.  And so I can go home, and my uncle can laugh at me."

"Why would he laugh?"  Takashi frowned dubiously at the idea.

Arai shrugged.  "He says laughing at the small stuff keeps you young.  I guess that's true.  Sorta puts things in perspective, y'know?"

"Hm."

**

Of course Arai knew better than to expect Takashi to give up blame for the incident right away.  Responsibility was something bred into the bones of the Morinozukas, going back generations, and you had to take the good with the bad, with that sort of thing.  So long as he wasn't abjectly miserable anymore, Arai figured it best to let Takashi sort things out for himself.  There was no use trying to argue with that neverending steadfastness, and why do it, when it was one of the qualities Arai admired most about him?  No, he wouldn't change Takashi's devotion, or his reliability, for the world.  Even if he did take it a little overboard sometimes.

It did trouble him to later learn that Takashi had permanently forsworn all things cherry-flavored, especially considering how he'd admitted to the preference ( _...my favorite_ ), in that low, hungry voice that gave Arai the shivers every time he thought about it.  He guessed Takashi had done it partly to reprimand himself (needlessly, in Arai's opinion), but mostly out of absolute determination to never repeat the mishap;  it was sheer fright and desperation that had got them from the library to the kitchen in two blinks of an eye, and if the situation were reversed, Arai would've done exactly the same thing.  Except he likely couldn't have moved so fast, and he doubted he'd even be able to think through his panic.

So it made sense, but it didn't seem fair at all.  It was so seldom that Takashi indulged himself in anything, and he hardly ever expressed special preferences for things.  Plus, it was still baking hot every day, and who wouldn't want to enjoy something cold and tasty on a summer afternoon?  That was half of what summer was for.

There should be a compromise, Arai decided, polishing apples in the storeroom a few days later.  He looked over the crates of melons, the tangerines, the strawberries.  The exotic, ripe bite of wild cherry still lingered in his senses;  before it had scorched his face and blistered his mouth, he'd actually liked it.  But peaches, passion fruit, grapes, mangoes.  There were lots of flavors in the world besides cherry, not even counting the far-out stuff, like cactus berries and flowers.  Surely he could find the right substitute, if he just put his mind to it.

***


	3. Chapter 3

"You want to buy fruit from the wholesaler."  Arai's uncle raised an eyebrow at him across the table, at dinner.

"Yeah."  
"To make syrups with.  For ices."

"That's the idea," said Arai.

"You know you can buy the syrups.  They've got dozens of flavors.  Maybe hundreds."  
"Well, sure.  But I want to make it myself."

"Not to insult your cooking skills, kid, but making that kind of thing from scratch is a lot of work."

"It's okay if you insult my cooking," Arai grinned.  "I'm lousy at it.  But I'd like to try anyway, if that's okay?"

"You got any recipes?"  
"I was, uh, gonna ask Sakura-san for directions.  She knows how to make them."

"Ah," his uncle nodded, as if it all suddenly made sense.  "So it's for your friend, you're doing this."

"Cherry was Takashi's favorite," Arai shrugged.  "But he won't have it all anymore, since I'm allergic."

His uncle pondered that, then shook his head, chuckling to himself.  "You two kids...."

"What?"  
"Nah, nothing."  Waving him off.  "Tell you what.  Get me a list, and I'll add it to our regular order tomorrow--"

"I can pay for all the--"  
"Don't worry about it.  Consider it, I dunno, a bonus.  Anything you don't use, we'll put into stock."

"....Thanks.  Really, thanks a lot."  
"You're a good kid."  Leaning over to ruffle Arai's hair.  "I hope it works out for you."

**

It was true, that his uncle had laughed over Arai's mishap with the cherry ice.  After hearing the details (not _all_ the details, just the pertinent ones), and making sure Arai was okay, that the reaction wouldn't flare up again, the man had sat quiet for half a minute, and then laughed until he had to dig out his handkerchief and wipe his eyes.  But then that was it, the case was closed.  When Arai took over the kitchen every night, and during every free hour he had for the next four days, his uncle treated the project seriously.  He gave Arai all the space he needed, and even fished out odd implements hidden away in the drawers and cabinet corners that might help him out--strainers and a ladle, a funnel, and various chopping tools.

It was tedious, sweltering work.  All the dicing and peeling and stirring and straining, and occasionally scorching the stuff to the bottom of the pan because really, he had no idea what he was doing.  He spent hours over the stove, watching things bubble, and praying for just one tiny breeze to come through the single small window in the kitchen.  Whatever Sakura-san earned to do this every single day, Arai certainly hoped it was a lot.  Hell, there ought to be a shrine built in her honor, he thought.

He broke down and called her on the third afternoon, in a near-panic.  Hands and apron stained with blackberry juice, sweat dripping into his eyes.

"It keeps burning before it thickens," he moaned hopelessly, stirring at the sticky mess in the pan, his fifth batch on its way to failure.  "Did I get defective fruit, or what?"

Sakura-san enjoyed a good chuckle over that, and then tsked at him.  "Patience, Arai-kun.  Turn the heat down as far as it will go, and stir it evenly, without stopping."

"I'm starting to think I'm not cut out for this," he confessed, but turning down the heat anyway.  "I'm really not a cook."

"Nonsense," she told him.  "Cooking isn't magic.  It's a skill one earns through hard work and practice, like anything else.  That is how I learned, when I was much younger than you are now."

"Did you burn pans?"

"Hah!  When I was sixteen, I burned everything at least once.  Food was so expensive then....the head chef simply wept.  Use steel wool on your burnt pans, and don't let discouragement stop you from trying.  Be diligent, and stay mindful of your goal."

His goal.  Arai mopped his forehead with a dish towel, stirred the blackberry juice, and thought about that awhile.  Obviously a syrup that survived his ineptitude wasn't that important of a goal, in the big scheme of things.  But Takashi's happiness was.  Helping him forget how scared he'd been.  Giving him back that simple lazy summer afternoon, enjoying a cold treat _(...my favorite)_ , and flipping through a magazine under the ceiling fan.  Let him be strict and disciplined with himself the rest of the time, let him be driven by his unfailing responsibility, and all the duties he took with utmost seriousness.  But let him have the days off too, with his harmless simple pleasures.  He deserved that, as much as anybody Arai knew.

There were two more flavors he wanted to make after the blackberry (the most laborious so far), and he decided then and there, that he would get them perfect.  He _would_ , because his goal was every bit worth it.

 

**

Seven silver bowls, lined up on a tray on the library table.  Seven jewel-toned ices, each with its own silver spoon.  Blueberry, tangerine, peach.  Melon, mango, blackberry, and the last flavor--an impulse choice, a gamble.  A foreign fruit Arai had only read about, and quite the most baffling thing in the whole experiment.

**

He'd cut the first one open in the kitchen, stared at the two halves on the chopping block for a long time.  
"What do you do with this?" he'd asked his uncle, who'd been peeking over his shoulder.

"You eat the seeds."  
"Eat the seeds?"

"Well, the stuff around the seeds," his uncle amended.  "Then you spit the seeds out."  
"Huh.  Seems like a lot of work for nothing."

"I dunno.  People seem to like them."

"Huh."  He cocked his head, and looked at things from that angle.  Lot of seeds in there, with not much on them.  No wonder the recipe called for six fruits.  He plucked one seed out, for a taste.  And then another, and then a third one.  Five seeds later, he had decided this was definitely going to be more trouble than the blackberry syrup, but it might also be just right.

**

Takashi beheld the tray and each of the ices in silent bemusement, for quite some time.  
"Where did you get these?"  he finally asked.

"It's a secret," Arai said, gripping his knees under the table, to give his nervous hands something to do.

Takashi leveled a look at him.  A look of infinite patience and unflappable temperament.  A look that plainly said, _You know I can wait years for you to tell me.  Decades, if that's what it takes._

"You're supposed to be impartial," Arai argued.  "It's a taste test."

_A decade is a long time,_ suggested one of Takashi's eyebrows.

"Okay, I'll make you a deal.  Tell me which one you like best, and I'll tell you where they came from."

Takashi made another grave survey of the ices.  "Don't they use blindfolds in taste tests?"

Arai's very unhelpful imagination chose that moment to conjure an entirely inappropriate image involving a black silk scarf, which naturally resulted in a ferocious blush.  
"These are gonna melt, if you just keep flirting with me," he muttered, and Takashi glanced up, bit back a sharp, bright grin.

"I can't decide where to start," he conceded.  "Pick one for me?"

Arai took a second to think, and wipe his clammy palms on his shorts.  Then he reached across the table, and pushed the leftmost bowl forward.

 

"...Blueberry," Takashi said thoughtfully, after a taste.  "Satoshi likes blueberry pancakes on Sundays."  Obviously a carefully neutral judgment, Arai thought.  So he nudged the next dish forward.

Tangerine reminded Takashi of the Football Club, in high school.  
"Okaaay," Arai laughed.

"The Captain ate oranges constantly.  You could always tell he was coming, from the smell of the peels."  Takashi shook his head.  "Troublesome person."

Okay, next.  
"Tanabata," was Takashi's word on the peach.  "Mother hosts a brunch that day, every year, before the festival.  Peach crepes, and champagne, out in the courtyard.  All the family shows up, and all the Haninozuka."

Arai was starting to see an interesting pattern, here.  "Do you have a specific memory about every flavor?"

"Not _every_ flavor," Takashi shrugged, a little shyly.  "Not things you eat all the time."

"Soy sauce," Arai guessed.  
"Radish.  Natto," Takashi agreed.

"Noodles."  They shared a grin across the table.

 

**

Arai really wished he'd known about the melon.  He would most certainly have spared Takashi that memory, if he could.

"After Mitsukuni left, before I came here," he recalled quietly, "it never seemed to stop raining.  And the only food I could taste, were the musk melon candies he'd left behind.  I don't remember seeing anything, or smelling anything.  All I could hear was the rain, for a long time."

Takashi set his spoon down slowly, and Arai sat stricken.  He remembered that fall when they'd first met up again, and Takashi used to wander the countryside for hours, muted and distant, and frequently lost.  He'd been so pale back then, thinner, as though a long illness had worn him almost down to nothing and he was only just getting back on his feet.  

That had been a year, a whole year, after his cousin had left him.  Takashi never talked about it, and only now did Arai really, truly understand why.

"...I am so sorry," he half-whispered, finding it suddenly hard to make his voice work right.

Takashi raised up and looked at him with a monk's ancient eyes.  Centuries of wisdom, and the Buddha's own knowledge of suffering.  Then his mouth tugged a little bit sideways, and he ducked his head, and it was just Takashi again;  his dearest person in the world, and Arai's heart thumped high and hard in his chest.  _Never, never in a million years would I leave you behind.  Not for anything, I swear._

"Not your fault.  You didn't know."

"But..."  Then Arai realized, it was an echo he'd heard.  The same point he'd been trying to explain, a week before.

"I guess....there's still some things we don't know about each other."  

Takashi inclined his head in agreement.  
"But that's okay, I mean, if we figure it out as we go."  
"Of course."

"So."  He looked up carefully.  "We could both forgive ourselves, probably.  For not knowing any better.  Otherwise, we'd never get anywhere, right?"

Takashi eyed the lined-up bowls on the tray, with a tiny smile.  "We should, I think.  Yes."

**

Mango was an afternoon on a family trip to Okinawa, when Takashi was a child.  Satoshi was barely a toddler, and all that day he had fretted and then screamed, until Takashi handed him half a mango he'd been eating.  His little brother stared at it, like he couldn't figure out what it was for.  And then rubbed it vigorously in his hair.  

"Sakura-san scolded me all the way back to the hotel," Takashi said, with a rueful chuckle.  "It took ages to wash out."

It was Arai's turn to laugh, over the blackberry.

"...I had to be tutored all summer in Calculus.  I thought I'd never understand it;  it was _impossible_.  The tutor would give me a blackberry soda, if I got half the answers right.  But it was so frustrating, I chewed the straw--."

"No, go on," Arai gasped, holding his sides.  "Just--ha-ha--ignore me."  
"I'm not sure it's that funny."

"Trust me, I'm not laughing--hah--at you."

**

One flavor left, and Arai felt a little clutch of stage fright.  He really wanted to know what story Takashi would have for this one, what memory of his life would spin out, whether it would be hilarious, or content...hopefully it wouldn't be sad.  But this was the last of the ices, and while Arai would happily chain himself to the kitchen again for another batch of flavors, another dozen batches even, he wanted this one to be it.

From the moment he'd started the whole project, he wanted to feel like he'd gotten something right, just by knowing.  Like he had something to show for all the time they'd spent together;  that he'd listened well enough, learned enough, _cared_ enough, that he could know how to look after Takashi, the way Takashi always looked after him.

Takashi took up the spoon from the last silver bowl, and Arai twisted his hands between his knees.  This was how he'd felt in school after a big exam, when everyone's results were posted.  He'd already taken the test, it was already graded, but he almost couldn't bring himself to look....

"Wait a second," he blurted, startling himself.  "Before you--before you try that one.  I just wondered."

"Yes?"  
"Why was cherry your favorite?  What did it remind you of?"

Takashi turned the spoon between his fingers.  Smiled a little.  "Being here.  When my family used to come together in the summer, Sakura-san made cherry ice.  There was no school or schedule.  Just practice in the doujo, sometimes.  I think I always liked staying in this house best."

Arai rested his cheek in his palm.  "Oh.  That's....that's nice.  That's a nice thing to remember."  It was a bittersweet moment for him though.  Because now he understood the real thing he'd tried to make up for, only to realize there weren't any substitutes for certain parts of someone's life: the things that took them back to when they'd been happiest.  And it hurt, to think he'd accidentally taken away something that Takashi had kept close all these years, and remembered fondly.  

Stupid allergy.  Of all the things in the world to make him sick, how come it had to be cherry?  Why not something neither of them would touch with a three-meter staff, like peppermint, or cauliflower?  He wasn't that partial toward persimmons, how come he couldn't trade out for that?  

He was starting to get worked up over it all again, when he just happened to notice that Takashi had gone ahead and tasted the last ice.  And was now sitting curiously still.  Looking down at the bowl, holding the spoon in his mouth.  It was that pose which effectively jerked Arai back into the moment; the way Takashi lingered on the spoon, taking his time with it.

After what seemed like quite a long time, Takashi withdrew the spoon.  Tapped it on his lower lip.

"Pomegranate?"  he asked.  

Arai nodded, not trusting himself to speak.  There were too many questions jostled together in his skull, ready to elbow their way out in a rush.  Did he like it?  Was it awful?  How had he known?  What significance did pomegranate have for him?

For a second, Takashi looked like he might say something.  He pulled in a breath, but then paused.  To all outward appearances, Arai sat politely still but inside, his brain was whistling like a teakettle in full boil.  Then the spoon descended and, to his utter surprise, scooped up a second bite.

Takashi tasted this one pensively, head tilted to the side in a listening pose, eyes unfocused.  Arai ransacked his memories, looking for something to help him interpret the look, any hint, any clue at all.  But nothing useful occurred to him, and finally he gave up, cleared his throat nervously.

"So, what.  What do you think?"

Gradually, Takashi straightened, focused on him.  A certain warmth settled in his eyes; a mysterious, slow-dawning hint of a smile.  And then he reached for that last silver bowl, and stood from his chair.

"Takashi?"

"Is there more of this?"  
"Yeah.  Uh, in the kitchen...."

"Hm."  He strolled off from the table then, leaving Arai completely baffled.  Went to the sofa and paused, cradling the bowl of pomegranate ice in one hand, casting a look back over his shoulder.  "You coming?"

Arai was all elbows and knees in his confusion, struggling from behind the table to catch up.  "Okay, but what's--."

Takashi sank down on the sofa, one foot on the floor, and the other leg bent to rest against the back cushion.  "Here."  He patted the space in front of him.

At that point Arai knew the situation was well out of his hands.  Though that didn't seem to matter much, because even though he had no idea what was up, Takashi was inviting him to come and sit close, and it didn't even occur to Arai to turn him down.  He perched on the edge of the sofa, clueless, but willing to play along.   Let Takashi arrange them both into a shape that was almost too cozy for the afternoon temperature, but more or less ideal for laying around and not doing much for awhile.

"Just a wild guess," said Arai, leaning back against Takashi's chest, as he was guided.  "But I'm thinking you liked that one."

"Hm.  The first time I tried pomegranate, it was too sweet."  
"When was that?"

"The Host Club served a punch.  I tasted it once."

"Oh."  He draped his arm over Takashi's leg for more breathing room.  "So it reminds you of the Host Club?"  
"No."  Arai craned about, to see Takashi looking down at him thoughtfully.  "How long did this one take to make?"

"Not much longer than the others," Arai shrugged.  "Dealing with all the seeds was the....hey wait a minute."  Takashi sat back, grinning, and Arai pointed, "You tricked me!"  

"I guessed," he chuckled, too pleased with himself to be repentant.  

For a second, Arai thought he might be disappointed about his secret worming out like that.  He hadn't wanted Takashi to feel obliged to like the ices, just because he had made them;  it would defeat the whole purpose of the project.  Though he should've known Takashi would figure it out.  He was oddly astute that way.    
   
Then Takashi pressed a quick kiss to the side of his head, and offered him a spoonful of ice, saying, "They were all good.  But I like this one most."  And that made up for everything.  Clearly Arai's effort had paid off, and there was no point in moping when he was tucked in so comfortably, with Takashi's arms around his shoulders.  

"Mmm.  Me too," Arai agreed.  The pomegranate really was good.  He thumbed a sticky spot off his chin, and thought a moment.  "So uh, what does it remind you of?  Just curious."

Takashi shifted against his back, settling deeper into the sofa with a quiet sigh.  Arai didn't need to look around to know he was mulling the question over, and so waited.  His head resting against the hollow of Takashi's shoulder, Takashi's knuckles idly grazing his wrist, and faint drafts from the ceiling fan just above stirring over his skin.

"A day in the middle of summer," Takashi eventually said.  "When it was too hot to do anything.  But someone I liked--," fingertips brushing Arai's arm, "--very much, came and kept me company.  Someone who'd made _seven_ ice flavors," he chuckled, "to find out which I'd like best."

Arai smiled, letting himself be lulled by the bedtime-story cadence of Takashi's low voice.  "That person must have really wanted to make you happy."

"They did.  I'm always happy with them."

Impossibly, Arai's smile spread broader, and he pulled his arm back to reach Takashi's hand and lace their fingers together.  

"So then what happened?"  
"We shared the last flavor, the one we both liked most.  And talked about our favorite things."

Arai knew then, that from here on out, this was what he would remember best about summer.  An endless afternoon, laying in half-drowsy comfort, sharing tart pomegranate ice off a cold spoon.  The strong rise and fall of Takashi's breathing at his back, and every care suspended for awhile, like the dust motes floating in the gold light spilling through the crack in the window drapes.  

"Was that all?" he asked, after a bit.

"Hm.  We might've gone swimming, when it cooled off later...."  
Arai stretched his legs out, and nosed up to kiss Takashi on the chin.

"I guess if I stick around, I'll find out for sure."

"I'd like that."

 

*****

_(end)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was prompted by a challenge game with [PandoraCulpa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/PandoraCulpa/pseuds/PandoraCulpa), wherein she told me: 
> 
> _"Mori has recently discovered a new love of cherry ices.  What he didn't know, is that Arai is allergic to cherry."_


End file.
